


Whisper

by teh_gelfling



Series: Prowl/Red [8]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Community: tf_rare_pairing, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Miscarriage, Slash, Triggery Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_gelfling/pseuds/teh_gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://tf-rare-pairing.livejournal.com">tf_rare_pairing</a> weekly request prompt: January 12, 2014 – Red Alert/Prowl – whisper</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> Woo, got one on time! \o/ I don't know if the prompt was actually inspired by the Evanescence song of the same name, but it fits so farking well with Red. (At least in my headcanon; Red has the [insular subtype of paranoid personality disorder.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paranoid_personality_disorder#Other) Beware the headcanon.)
> 
> And of course I had to write this, because I'm still heavy on my Red/Prowl kick. I luff them liek whoa. This follows [Loss](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1134595), which in turn follows [Disconsolate.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/978355)
> 
> If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.

The hallway was silent. Blessedly so. Red slunk down the corridor as quickly as he could without making any undue noise. There were things sleeping that were better left to their slumber.

A quick stop into the officers' mess saw him pick up a single, plain cube of energon. He took a tiny sip and let the charged liquid sit on his tongue for a moment, chemoreceptors pinging the composition to his processor.

Not poisoned today.

A brief pause before he left, just to look over the room. The left-hand sofa in front of the viewscreen had been moved further left by five inches and rotated clockwise two degrees. Three of the tables had been pushed together. Different from the last time he'd come by, but then the layout always was.

Movement in the doorway caught his attention, but when he looked, there was no one there. Perhaps it was simply someone passing in the hallway.

Then again, maybe not. The hallway was deserted and still silent, but now it was fraught with tension. There was a heaviness to the atmosphere, an electric tingle to the air, and Red's spark skipped.

And that was when he heard it. But only just. The slightest of whispers, seeming right at his audial and yet far away enough that he couldn't understand the words.

Silence reigned again, but only for a klik. The whisper returned, bringing with it other voices, all familiar to the Security Director.

Now to find them.

He tapped into the video feed for the cameras in the next corridor, only to find it just as deserted as the one he stood in. The one behind resulted in the same.

Okay. Perhaps he was hearing conversations from the offices nearby.

Or maybe the twins had patched into his comm line again and were playing some cruel prank.

But if that were the case, how had they managed to get Jazz in on it? The saboteur had proven himself reasonably trustworthy, given the line of work he was in and the fact that he was a former Decepticon. He played pranks, but never malicious ones, and never before on Red Alert. A thought occurred to him. What if the mech had been waiting for him to relax his guard and was now showing his true colours?

Of course. And of course he would be in cahoots with the terror twins. Closest thing to Decepticons on the _Ark_. They had to be conspiring to drive him into a glitch so their cohorts could attack the Autobots without the early warning Red would certainly give them.

Well, he wouldn't let that happen.

He pinged Teletraan for Jazz's location. The answer did not make him happy in the slightest. Although it did settle his previous thoughts.

Autobot Jazz was not on the _Ark_.

Which meant he was on a mission, probably to the _Nemesis_. Which in turn meant that he absolutely could _not_ be hearing the mech's voice. And yet he was.

Out of curiosity, he pinged for the twins' locations.

They were out on patrol. His lines ran cold.

A new voice joined the others, closer this time. He could almost understand it, but the words it spoke were muttered, indistinct. Slurred, as though the mech were drunk. And the camera feeds were still clear of any presence but his own.

“Who's there?” he demanded, hoping that the nervousness beginning to creep up on him wouldn't come out in his voice.

Laughter was his only response. Some manic, some hysterical, some that would be pleasant if it weren't directed at him.

His sensor horns sparked slightly. “Show yourselves! I know you're there!” His hand was shoved into his subspace as though going for his pistol. It was just for show, though, a bluff, as he'd been disarmed some time back, only allowed to carry energy weapons when the base was on alert or if he was heading into battle.

_Little Red._

_Little Red, afraid of his own shadow._

_So worried he'll miss something insignificant that he misses the obvious._

“No!”

_Coops himself up in his office all day and all night, weeks on end._

_They have to drag him out to get him to recharge._

_Have to force him to refuel._

_No one likes him._

_What is there to like?_

_Even his mate can't stand him._

Laughter. Always more laughter. Red twitched as his horns sparked again, far more heavily this time. “Stop it!”

But they didn't. They never did. The voices babbled on; now louder, now softer, now barely a whisper, now a roar. And through it all came the laughter, mocking him, shaming him. He backed into the bulkhead, hands over his audials as if it would save him from the storm. The lightbar on his back shattered with the force of the hit and he slid to the deck, curling up as tight as he could, trying to block out the noise.

It was a long time before he regained awareness.

-_-_-_-

“Are you sure nothing's wrong, Ratchet?”

“For the fifth time, Prowl. Yes, I'm sure. He'll wake up when he's ready. No, I don't know when that will be. Now sit down and shut up or get the hell out of my medbay.”

Prowl sat. His right doorwing flicked repetitively in agitation as he watched his lover for any sign of consciousness. He listened to the quiet sounds of internals working and those of the medic going about his business across the 'bay. And the whole time, he was racking his processor, trying to determine what might have brought this glitch on.

Stress, Ratchet said. But they were all under stress. Some more than others, granted, but they were at _war_. The best they could hope for was stress-reduced; there was no such thing as a stress-free environment in their situation.

But Red Alert was overly stressed, and Prowl knew it. He took his job – the safety and security of the entire Autobot army on Earth – very seriously. He was the best Security Director they'd had, even if there were multiple complaints against him at any given time. Very few of them actually had to do with the mech himself, though. Most were moanings on the unfairness of whatever policy had been enforced by the Lamborghini. If pressed, most of the mechs on the Ark would even admit to something of a fondness for Red, though some took more pressing than others.

So there was his job. And then the stress of Prowl's job as well, because his mate just listened to the rants and diatribes and breakdowns whenever one of his plans had gone just wrong enough to result in unjustified injuries or deaths. Listened and held and comforted, no complaints, no judgements.

And then there was... His processor caught and his wings flared out in distress before he could get himself under control. He wanted to push the thoughts away, to just not remember. Didn't want to think of the sparkling they'd lost before it could even live.

And then his own reactions in the time after. Last orn, to be specific. The not-so-veiled threat he'd issued, the insinuation that he'd leave over not getting his way, however slight it had been. Primus, he was a monster.

Blue optics stared at him from the berth. Aqua from beside him. Both looked concerned.

“Prowl?” Red Alert's voice was quiet, hesitant. Fearful.

Doorwings dropped and tucked into his back in sudden shame. Submission. He rose, only to stumble to the berth and tuck himself into his mate's side, wrapping his arms around Red's waist. “I'm sorry. I love you, I won't leave you. I'm sorry. You –” His vocaliser cut out, spitting static. “You were right. I'm sorry I made you glitch.” His vents hitched and he cried into red and white plating.

Ratchet met Red's worried stare and shrugged. “He's not left since he brought you in. Been a damn right nuisance, too, bugging me every other _hour_ for your status. Pretty sure he's been beating himself up about the situation, too.”

The emphasis on the human time measurement was not lost on the Lambo.  He nodded and petted a doorwing. “Am I cleared to leave?”

“Ha.” Ratchet snorted. “I'm keeping you for another few joors, just to make sure nothing else happens. Don't worry about anyone bothering you. The door's coded to med staff, you, and Prowl, and the window's on opaque. Relax, work out your issues. Trailbreaker and Inferno can handle security until you get back. I'll check on you later.” The medic left, the door beeping locked in his wake.

Red continued to stroke smooth plating, murmuring in response to Prowl's continued, muffled apologies. He shuffled their positions and settled back down, lying so he could hold the Datsun close. Maybe if he could get Prowl calmed down, they could nap together. He was still rather drained, and he knew that his lover would be as well. Emotional outbursts invariably took a heavy toll.

Soft whispers fell from his lips as he soothed the black and white in his embrace.

 


End file.
